Finding The Words

He fills in the gaps with gestures. Sweeping gestures, as if inviting me to find the words that have escaped his fragile mind. I search for them as hard as I can; I do not want to disappoint. The enthusiastic "YES!" is a reward. If I am unable to find the missing words, he shakes his head and says "Ohhhh. My... dumb brain..." and taps his forehead. But those moments are fewer, as he has figured out that I can piece a story together pretty well without a few elusive words.

We started off on our walk on Tuesday after filling the yard waste recycle bin. At first, he wanted to grab his saw and cut the branches we couldn't fit into the bin, into smaller pieces. I made him a deal, which he accepted, to take a walk instead. Magic words - "Your doctor has asked you to take more walks."
"Oh, I know," he said, resigned. But, in fact, he was looking forward to taking a walk. We had gentle snow flurries swirling around and it was just beautiful.


He's always wanting to give me gloves, and this day was no exception. He thought I should wear the gardening gloves I'd been using, during the walk, and then take them  home. So endearing. But we got the proper gloves on, and set out on our walk.

In the driveway he suddenly lists to the right, like a ship that hit a big wave. "Did the driveway move on you?" I ask, cheerfully, reaching for his arm. "Yes. Yes it did. Just a little." He's fine.

The neighborhood has no sidewalks, and that's a little scary, but I don't let on that it is. This day he has chosen not to take his cane.

Here's the epiphany I got on Tuesday. When we leave the house together, he starts talking and does not stop until we're back in the house. He has a running commentary on the homes, the construction, and the past events of the neighborhood. He chats with neighbors, easily, knowing exactly who they are and asking appropriate questions of them. He gets stuck, sometimes, as he tells me the story of one of the neighbors. That word loss thing. He gestures, inviting me to find the missing words. It's like a game. Once he told me that the neighbor worked for my friend. He looked at me square in the eyes after he said that, and I wildly searched the memory banks for who "my friend" could be. "The former governor?" I asked. "YES!!!" Whew!


Tuesday as we neared the house again, after our walk, he was clearly tired and cold. I said "Hey, at least this way, when your doctor asks if you've been taking walks, you can say yes!"
He stopped and smiled, then leaned in and said;
"Sometimes I lie."

How do I keep my energy and focus while caregiving? I have a secret. I'd love to share it with you, if you're in need of energy too. It may or may not be for you, but it works for me! Check it out here. There is a short video, and if you introduce yourself you can step into my virtual store.

The Man of the House

Imagine knowing that you were supposed to clean up the yard, and that you had always cleaned up the yard, and having someone forbid you to even go outside. Imagine if much of the pride you had was in how immaculate you kept that yard.


Don and Ella have a pristine yard. Carefully planned, thoroughly landscaped, and always as clean and neat as the inside of their house.

Except right now. A huge pile of yard debris and pine needles was driving Don crazy. Lunch was done, and he was ready to get his hat and coat on and go out to the yard and pick it all up. Ella held onto his chest and pleaded "Honey, you must not go." When that didn't work she got stern "Honey. You are NOT going out in the yard." Enter the nosy caregiver!
"Is there something I can do to help?" I asked, very cheerfully (and refraining from giving her a big old stink eye).
Don looked puzzled. I said "I can help you clean up that pile in the yard that's bothering you!"
"You would????" he smiled.
She didn't look really pleased. I felt a lot like Cinderella. After all, my chores were done, except for the ironing. The ironing of the sweat clothes, and jeans. I pushed the ironing board up against the wall, unplugged and stored the hot iron, and got on my sweater.
"Let's go outside!"

The man of the house struggled into his shoes, and got his coat and hat, and out the door we went. He stopped and looked at me. "You.... you do this stuff?"
"I do whatever is needed. Yes."
"Well, okayyyy...." (sing song voice)

We raked, shoveled, and gathered as much debris as we could into the yard recycle bin. We filled it to the absolute top. He looked concerned. I just smiled.

Dementia is so interesting. Some muscle memory and routines are undisturbed for some people, and then other things leave gaps. He could not figure out how we were going to get the recycle bin up to the street. I said "Let me turn this around. Then you'll grab one side, and I'll grab the other, and we will work together."
And work together we did. He was so surprised that we could get that all the way up to the walk beside the garage. "I'll take it from here!" he said so happily. It was obvious that the work, the air, and the sense of accomplishment had done him good. We put bin out by the other two, and slowly walked back to the back door. "I think I'll go get my saw and cut up those large branches out there" he said.
Emmmmm no.
"Hey," I said. "I'll make you a deal! Let's do the sawing tomorrow, and take a walk today."
There were some small snowflakes swirling around by this time.
"Okayyyy. Do you think we should walk in this snow?"
"I think it will be fun!"
"Okay, then. Let's do that."

I'll tell you about our walk tomorrow.

Gentle, quiet man

I see the photos from the past, and he was strikingly handsome. Tall, a little on the thin side, and with the best of smiles. He's still all of those things. He has a quiet grace about him, and he speaks softly. His "uh huh" response to questions is musical. It ends on a higher note, sort of sing-song. You'd have to hear it, I guess.

He has a cane, and a walker. He doesn't like either one. Some days he's pretty steady on his feet, and some days I'm worried about him just trying to stand up. He knows he's failing. He knows he can't think of the words he wants to say, and these things bother him greatly. I can tell he was self-assured in days gone by. Now he feels, as he says, stupid.


He's worried about things like me driving in traffic or weather. He's worried that I live so far away. One day he was obviously thinking about that, and he said "Say we were to come and visit you one day. Where would we go?" Such an interesting way to ask. I described the drive from highway 522 to State Route 2. "Oh, my! You do live way, way out there, don't you?" The thought of him coming out for a visit is delightful to me.


He tries to read the paper, but it's obvious that the words just sit there and don't communicate with him anymore. He scans the same news over and over, and then quietly gives up, folds the paper, and tosses it aside. Hands on the arm rests of the recliner, he stares into space until he falls asleep, mouth open. That hurts my heart. I will sometimes come in and put my hand on his hand and ask if there is anything he wants or needs.

He tried to press the numbers on the phone yesterday, to call his sister. He was unable to press the right ones, because the word "six" and the numeral 6 did not relate, in his mind. It's happening. I hate this.


Sometimes he stands in the hall, unsure of which direction he intended to go. If it's only for a few minutes, I don't intervene. Sometimes I know that means he is trying to figure out if he has to go to the bathroom. In no way do I ever want to embarrass or frighten him. If he wanders back and forth in the hall, I will cheerfully invite him to watch TV while I do a chore. "Keep me company!" I say. He likes that, and says "Oh, okayyyy" in the same soft, sing-song lilt.


He's still at the stage where he knows he's losing himself. One day, mercifully, he will no longer be aware of this. I pray that he still remembers that he feels better when I'm there, should that day come.

Do you know what she did?

Stories can become very sensational, in Dementia Land. The basic story is probably true, but some of the facts have gotten made larger than life. It's fascinating.

Don and I took a very lengthy walk around his neighborhood. You'll recall that he is obsessed with the City having moved that house to its current location while he was in the hospital. Sometimes the hospital stay was a few weeks ago, and sometimes a few years. Sometimes the house they're in now was "free", and he has NO idea how in the world that happened or for how long they'll be able to stay. I never know what he's going to say, but I'm always ready to reassure him that he is safe.

Anyway, on this particular day, I remarked about the tree in their front yard. It really does have personality, and more so now that there are no leaves. We stood in front of the house and considered the tree, and the other trees which line that edge of the property. He got all wound up, suddenly. "Do you see all......  all of that?" he asked, gesturing toward the trees.
"The trees?"
"YES!"
"I do. They're so pretty."
"Well, do you know what she did? What she did when the City.... they wanted to....  they were going to.... but she got her gun!"
"Oh, my gosh, really?"
"Yes, and our daughter was going to be born.... tomorrow. But she was still out there, with her gun, and she wouldn't let them...... she wouldn't let them! So you see those are still there. She told them they didn't need to take them, and she was right."
"She wasn't about to let them take the trees?"
"That's right! And our little baby daughter was just born, and  she sat out here with the baby and with her gun. Every day. Until they gave up."
"Well, then. I guess I better stay on her good side!"
He smiled and nodded.